


Fetish

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-06
Updated: 2005-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Most days he was at peace with his fetish.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fetish

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MaryTheFan for the idea. Written on the instigation of the folks on #primenotprime. Revised since it was posted to sga_flashfic.

Rodney wasn't sure exactly what it was about a uniform that made it so sexy. It was more than just the crisp slide of the fabric under his fingers, he was sure, more than the sleek lines that melded form and function perfectly. Most days he didn't bother analyzing it at all; he just accepted that he'd forever be drawn to women (and, occasionally, to men) in uniform.

Most days he was at peace with his fetish.

And then there were days like today, when his head turned—seemingly of its own volition—and his gaze followed the new flyboy's retreating backside. Days when it just didn't pay to get up in the morning. Because wasn't it just his luck that the new flyboy—who was all smoldering good looks and flirty smirks—not only had the Ancient gene, but had it in spades? It was adding insult to injury, that's what it was.

It was all the fault of the stupid uniform fetish, because Rodney absolutely did _not_ like brunets, and besides, most military guys were more trouble than they were worth. Give him Lt. Col. Samantha Carter and the three Bs—blonde, breasts, and brilliant—any day.

Except that at the moment his dick seemed to be quite happy to consider the possibilities inherent in one Major John Sheppard. It was the jacket, it had to be; it looked shiny and stiff and Rodney could almost feel the rough texture crinkling under his fingers and sliding against his dick.

Rodney dragged his gaze away, heading for the supply closet before anyone could notice his body's betrayal. Staring was not smooth, was not cool, and was very likely to get his bloody remains dumped in the Antarctic snow.

Once inside the small, crowded closet, he leaned back against one of the metal racks, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. He thought about the least sexy things he could imagine: the frozen landscape outside, Kavanagh naked, a Goa'uld symbiote. He'd almost managed to catch his breath, almost managed to get himself under control, when the door opened and Sheppard stepped through.

"Major," Rodney acknowledged, feeling a guilty flush heat his face.

Sheppard closed in on him, left hand grazing past Rodney's cheek to grab hold of the shelf at his back. "You," he said as he leaned forward, his expression serious and intense, "were checking out my ass."

Yep, days when it just didn't pay to get up in the morning.

Rodney was already starting to shake his head when he realized that there was a notable lack of Sheppard's fist impacting his face or stomach or...well, anywhere vulnerable, in fact. Instead, Sheppard's free hand moved down over the front of Rodney's pants to cup his half-hard dick, palm sliding down with just enough pressure to make his hips thrust a little.

Sheppard grinned at him. "I thought so."

And then Rodney lost the thread of events, because while he'd been distracted by Sheppard's smile and by the susurration of Sheppard's flight jacket, his pants had gotten unzipped and now Sheppard was working his dick with strong, sure fingers. Rodney was smart enough not to argue with a hand job under any circumstances, and this was hardly the worst situation he could imagine himself in, so he went with it.

He let out the breath he'd been holding, let his head drop back against the metal shelf. In the process, his cheek brushed against Sheppard's sleeve, and the fabric was somehow both slick and rough. It felt so hot that Rodney couldn't even bring himself to be embarrassed about the involuntary moan it evoked; instead, he just reached up and slid one hand along Sheppard's arm from wrist to shoulder, slowly savoring the crisp slide of the fabric under his fingertips.

Sheppard's grin never faltered, and neither did his rhythm on Rodney's dick.

Yeah, most military guys were more trouble than they were worth, but this one seemed extremely good with his hands—duh, because pilot = dexterous—and maybe Rodney could forgive him for having the gene. Especially if he did that again, that thing with his thumb and a slight twist of his wrist that...oh. Oh, yes.

"Major." It was as much of a warning as Rodney could manage, but Sheppard got the message and cupped his free hand over Rodney's dick to minimize the mess.

"I think you can probably call me John," Sheppard said wryly. He very deliberately slid his sleeve against Rodney's cheek as he reached back over Rodney's shoulder for a package of paper towels that had been destined for the latrines.

As Sheppard wiped his hands, Rodney dropped to his knees and grinned at the resulting surprise on Sheppard's face. "Actually," he said, undoing Sheppard's pants, "I think I'll stick with 'Major.'"

There were days when it didn't pay to get up in the morning. And then there were days he wouldn't miss for the world.


End file.
